


Another Brilliant Idea, Steinberg!

by calrissian18



Series: Mating Games: Round 2 [12]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Laura Hale, Alternate Universe - Human, Dog fic, Fluff, M/M, Pining Derek, Writer Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 09:37:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1774411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calrissian18/pseuds/calrissian18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘Get a dog, or get a therapist.’  A dog <i>had</i> to be less annoying.</p><p>Written for mating_games Bonus Challenge 6: Meet Cute.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Brilliant Idea, Steinberg!

‘Get a dog’ is Laura’s vaguest advice to date.  It would have been much more helpful if she had said, ‘Get _this_ dog.’

As it turns out, there are a lot of them – of varying ages, breeds and levels of obnoxiousness.  They’re basically all loud and too free with their tongues and living, breathing little bags of organs, need and attention-suck.  Not to mention, they sort of excel at hosting some of the world’s grossest parasites.   _Plague-carrying_ parasites.  The part two to her ‘advice’ keeps him from walking right back out the way he came.

‘Get a dog, or get a therapist.’

A dog _had_ to be less annoying.

Derek blinks down at what looks like Einstein’s hair reanimated and given legs.  Whatever scientists had dropped this failed experiment here and wiped their hands of it had clearly figured it was nothing to sweat bullets over because it’s not like the hair was using them anyway.

In fact, they’re awkwardly sticking straight out to the side, the hair flopped over and pulsing slightly.

The laminated card says it’s a sheep dog.  Not the worst alias Derek’s ever seen.  He crouches down.  The hair doesn’t so much as quiver.  He whispers, “I can break you out of here, Al.”

He’s pretty sure the hair winks back, even though it’s only a pile of leg-having protein.  Which means it’s dedicated to the idea.

* * *

“That’s my dog!” is the first thing he hears entering the vet’s office to get the hair its shots.  Derek assumes they’re some kind of Steve Rogers super-soldier serum level of Top Secret and governmental back dealing, which is why the adoption lady had kept calling Einstein’s hair a ‘dog.’  Never knew who might be listening.  Derek had thumbed his nose to show he was ‘cool.’

She’d only goggled at him.  Dedicated to the ruse, that one.

He frowns down at the mop of hair.  He’d gotten the leash only to keep up appearances.  “That’s a wig,” he says automatically.  Best not to let the lay person know about its legs and ability to mimic breathing.

“ _My_ wig,” the voice retorts and Derek looks around for the source of it.

Derek decides he’ll happily hand over the wig if he gets the guy in return.  His mouth is a dark slash of disapproval, cheeks still rounded with youth and dotted with moles.  He’s leaning over the linoleum counter, hands taut and twisted together.

His face darkens, brow furrowing, and his eyes would definitely be insulted if Derek applied the word ‘brown’ to them because they _defy_ brown.  They take Brown, give it a _She’s All That_ makeover and let it pop back up with a fancy stripper name like Amber or Honey.

Derek swallows and the guy tugs on either side of his open plaid overshirt.  He has no idea how to dress for his body type, either because he doesn’t care because his self-esteem’s through the roof or the exact opposite.  He’s in Converse, jeans and a graphic tee for a band Derek’s never heard of.  He’s wearing a backwards baseball cap with the Mets logo on it too.

He looks like he might be a little mean.  Derek thinks he might like that.

A floppy-haired guy with a doofy smile interrupts Derek’s staring.  He walks right by Leaning Guy, obscuring Derek’s view and kneels down for the hair.  He pets it and says happily, looking up at Derek, “I’d heard he got adopted.”  He throws a look over his shoulder.  “Knew you’d be crushed, man.”

Derek’s not paying attention.  He’s bonded better with the guy than the hair and he wants to find some way to ask if he can possibly swap the two.

Leaning Guy gives up the characteristic Derek’s chosen to define him by and walks over, more energy in every step than Derek uses all day.  He’s exhausted just _looking_ at him.

“You stole my dog,” he insists.  “What we have here, amigo, is a bitter custody battle and I don’t really _do_ losing.”

Einstein's hair squirms out of Smiling Guy’s arms and starts… _yipping_ when it recognizes No Longer Leaning Guy.  It twines its leash all around his legs and he breaks out in a huge grin.

Yeah.  Derek’s done for.  He can have the wig, Derek’s wallet and his left shoe so long as he keeps smiling like that.  “Does that mean you’ll be exercising your visitation rights?”  That was flirting.  That was some grade-A flirting.  A rictus of a smile spreads itself across his mouth and now he probably looks like a serial killer.  He’s moved into more threatening and less seductive territory and is still trying to pull it back when No Longer Leaning Guy steps out of the tangle of leash.

“I believe this is you catering to me, guy.”  He smiles down at the wig, flicks a glare up at Derek.  “I expect him back here at least once a week.  Thursdays are now my day.”

The vet interrupts, calling Derek back and Derek stands there while the wig gets it shots.  The vet pushes back hair to show teeth, snout, eyes and, holy crap, the wig’s a dog.  Derek’s going to have to feed it and walk it and name it probably.

That’s just _super_.

* * *

Derek doesn’t really intend to go to the vet’s office every Thursday just to see Indecisively Leaning Guy.  He’s infatuated, not pathetic.  Or at least he figures he can hide his pathetic better than that.  That changes in the face of Laura’s dog-murdering fury.

It’s not Derek’s fault that Einstein eats bras and underwear and socks and isn’t housebroken.  They’d only had that last point on the card and Derek had figured that was to keep anyone from adopting what was clearly an important scientific achievement—that no one had any idea what to do with.

Sheep dogs, which Derek has dubiously chosen to believe Einstein is, apparently need a lot of exercise so Derek gets used to having a tiny, mop-like shadow pretty much everywhere he goes.  He takes him on runs twice a day and then into town.  The first time he passes the vet office, it just _happens_ to be a Thursday.  The door is just closing and Einstein darts inside all Indiana Jones daring.

Derek pushes the door open and Leaning Guy is there, leaning as he sometimes does.  He’s smiling at Smiling Guy across the counter and Derek could probably take him.  Smiling Guy looks like he might be one of those vegan, pacifist types, which means all Derek needs is one good punch to take out Leaning Guy’s boyfriend.

Einstein spots him at the same time, tugs hard enough that his leash rips out of Derek’s grip and then he’s jumping up on Leaning Guy’s leg.  “Fuzzbucket!” he says brightly, leaning down to scratch under Einstein’s belly.

Derek frowns down at the display.  “This is part of the reason I thought you were a wig,” he tells Einstein, whose tongue is hanging out of his mouth, beady black eyes just visible.  Shameless.  Just shameless.  “This is not dog-like behavior.  You and the vet are mortal enemies.”  He really shouldn't have to _tell_ Einstein about his own arch nemeses.  He'd had a whole conversation with him about the mailman only yesterday.

Leaning Guy straightens up, becomes No Longer Leaning Guy, and squints his eyes at him.  His eyelashes are kind of ridiculously long and dark against his pale skin.  “I see you’ve decided to keep to the schedule.  Let me guess, you blew the kiddie support at the slots again?”

Derek shakes his head.  “Hookers.”

No Longer Leaning Guy’s lips start to kick out into a smile but he twitches them back down.  He seems to like that Derek can keep up with him.

Smiling Guy noses into the moment with a bright, “He looks great,” indicating Einstein.

“His reign of destruction agrees with him,” Derek agrees.

No Longer Leaning Guy grins toothily down at Einstein, almost proud, and Smiling Guy winces.  “There are training classes in town if you want?  Puppies can be difficult and it’s best to start early.”  He’s rifling through pamphlets when he stops, shoots a smirk at Leaning Guy and says, “Stiles actually has dog training certification though and there’s a path out back we use for the dogs that kennel here.”

Stiles.  Indecisively Leaning Guy’s name is Stiles.  It’s stupid.  Perfect.  Derek rolls it around in his head before saying, “If it would get him off my back about this kid, I don’t see how it could hurt.”

Lean— _Stiles_ ’ wide mouth purses.

“Derek, by the way,” he introduces himself.  “It’ll make the legal matters easier in the long run, I guarantee it.”

* * *

Stiles says he can come back on Thursdays and they’ll work on the basics with Einstein.  He judges the name choice but from the slight quirk of his lips, it’s clear he at least understands the impetus behind it.

* * *

When Derek takes Einstein home that night, he’s more settled than Derek’s ever seen him and it lasts all through the next day.  In fact, Derek spends a good eight hours thinking he’s probably dead, walking over, nudging him with a toe until he _whumps_ and walking away again.  He sleeps from morning to afternoon, not moving except to follow the sun patch as it moves across the floor.

He gets up in Derek’s bed that night.  Derek has literally no idea where he was crashing before that but, as soon as Derek opens his window to listen to the rain pitter-patter outside, Einstein hops up, curls into a tight ball and makes as much noise as a small hospital generator.

* * *

“My dog is pining for you,” Derek tells Stiles next Thursday, swallows down the ballsy words he’d been planning—‘and he’s not the only one.’

Stiles doesn’t even look up from trying to convince Einstein to sit.  He’s not having it.  He seems to be against anything that isn’t getting mud on Stiles’ jeans.  “ _My_ dog,” he corrects seamlessly.  “And this is what happens in contentious situations like this.  Sides get chosen.  Fuzzbutt has chosen wisely.”

“I thought it was ‘bucket.’”  Possibly he’s making it a little too obvious that he can remember every word Stiles has ever said to him, or around him.  He might’ve even counted them.  Not that he will ever own up to that.

Stiles shrugs.  “It’s both.”  He’s still not looking at Derek.  It’s really beginning to bum him out because the lady at the grocery store had missed the plastic three times just trying to get his celery bagged.  He’s only asking for, like, an eighth of that.

* * *

“Who is she?”  Laura wields her spoon at him.  Derek’s legitimately afraid of what she might do with it.  He’d seen her shove a blueberry up a guy’s nose once.  “You have a dog and you’re not looking at it like it’s some kind of alien bent on giving you fleas and, through that, the plague.  Who could possibly have distracted you from your hatred of all things fluffy?”

“ _His_ name,” he draws himself up imperiously, “is Stiles and he’s training the flea-toting little martian.”

She waves her spoon around in a circle.  “And it all comes together.”

Derek ignores her, goes looking for Einstein’s leash while he winds through Derek’s legs trying to ensure massive brain trauma is sustained when he inevitably trips over him.  He moves aside about six magazines that have the words ‘Beach Body’ on them and Laura gapes at him.  “Is that your laptop?”

Derek doesn’t answer.

“Are you _writing_?”  She’s practically squealing her delight.

Derek plops the magazines back down so they’re hiding it again.  It had been a whim, that’s all.  There is positively no reason to be _squealing_.

* * *

Sometimes Stiles just plays fetch with Einstein and Derek, bored and not great at _subtly_ staring, takes out his phone and starts writing.  It gets easier the more times he does it.  Watching Stiles strip out of his plaid overshirt when it gets too hot after running around with Einstein is all kinds of ~~arousing~~ inspiring though and he’d have to be brain dead not to have some sort of epiphany looking at him.

More than that, Stiles makes him want to _do_ things _._ To be _more_.

* * *

Laura stops dead in her tracks.  Einstein’s up on the couch next to him, which is specifically Not Allowed.  He’d fallen asleep so fast that Derek hadn’t wanted to wake him just to make him get down.  She’s not staring at the white mop bristles that Einstein calls fur though, instead she’s staring at the computer in Derek’s lap, blinking.  “You’re writing?”  This takes it from idea to action and, okay, maybe it’s a little squeal-worthy now.

Derek plays it cool though, shrugs.  “A little, yeah.”

“I want to meet him,” she says and it’s that tone that he can’t really argue with.

* * *

Derek waits two weeks to bring it up, watches Einstein roll over and look for his treat.Only the feet give away that his little furball body is actually rolling.“Don’t you have to come for a home visit one of these days?” he asks, trying to sound nonchalant.

Stiles perks an eyebrow, shrugs at him.“Dude, I’m not even vet-affiliated, let alone SPCA-affiliated.”

“Oh,” Derek says carefully, “great.  That means I can continue feeding Einstein candy corn and marshmallow peeps and keeping him in the cabinet under the sink.  I figured you would jump on that and I’d have to make all kinds of adjustments, that’s a relief.”

Stiles snorts, glances down at Einstein, back up at Derek.He squints.“I suppose I should make sure his living environment is, at the very least, habitable.  I mean, what kind of parent would I be if I didn’t?”

“I’ll cook,” Derek blurts out in the wake of Stiles’ completely mind-blowing acceptance.Which explains why Derek says words that he cannot even come close to backing up.He closes his eyes, shakes his head, actively fights the embarrassment that’s climbing him like a tree.  “I don’t know why I said that, I don’t know how to cook unless you want ants on a log for every meal.  I’ll get take-out,” he tries with another of his rictus-smiles.

Stiles looks amused, in addition to less defensive than he ever has around Derek.It’s a good look on him, the openness and warmth.“Classy,” he says, teasing without its usual edge.“I’ll wear my best plaid.”

* * *

Stiles comes over for dinner, flops down in the spot of sun with Einstein on the floor and they starfish there together until the take-out guy is buzzing his way in.It’s probably not normal guest behavior but both Einstein and Stiles seem unbothered by that.Einstein’s mostly in awe over the whole idea that Stiles exists _outside_ the vet’s office, sends a slightly accusing bark Derek’s way like he’s been purposefully keeping the information from him.

Derek finds he isn’t bothered by any of it either.He’d enjoyed watching Stiles’ eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, his limbs growing heavy as he dozed, felt like it was Stiles’ version of a covered dish.Derek feels certain he appreciated it more than potato salad.

He's still responsive too.Speaks to Laura even from the floor and behind closed eyes, answers all her questions until she leaves halfway through dinner for her boyfriend’s place.They eat the rest of her Chinese and keep the conversation going and Stiles plays with Einstein for a few more minutes before letting Derek walk him to the door.

He shrugs his shoulders, hands in his pockets.It really is his best plaid, the closest fitting one Derek’s seen yet and the maroon makes his eyes even more interesting.“So, cool,” he says, looking just the slightest bit uncomfortable.  “Your girlfriend’s hot.”

Derek’s eyes bug.“ _Laura_?” he strangles out, shaking his head rapidly.  “No, Laura is not—One, she’s my sister.  Two, descriptors of my sister’s attractiveness do not exist.”

Stiles bites down on a grin, looks up at him and something flickers in his eyes.“You’re single then?”It’s interest.

Thank fucking God.

“Yeah, I have to warn you, I am going through a bitter custody battle with this guy over my dog though.”

Stiles laughs, and it’s a _good_ sound, light and carefree and he throws himself into Derek’s space and then they’re kissing.

* * *

The sex is—there isn’t a word for what the sex is between them.It’s… It feels like it _unlocks_ him somehow.

Which is probably the most terrifying thing that’s ever happened to him.

* * *

When Stiles stretches out next to him, letting out a heavy breath like he’s easing into becoming one with Derek’s mattress, Derek says, “You should probably go.”

He stiffens by degrees, like he’s trying to do it slowly, hide the way the words affect him.His mouth purses tight and he leans over the side of the bed for his clothes, dresses in the tense silence hanging between them.Derek should say something but he has no idea what it should be and so he doesn’t say anything.When Stiles is dressed, fingers digging into the mattress by his thighs, he says coldly, “Sounds like I could have used about sixteen thousand more warnings from you.”He turns his head towards Derek but doesn’t look at him.“Really fucking nice getting to know you, Derek Hale.”He pushes himself up and leaves without another word.

It’s the right thing to do, Derek knows it.It just doesn’t feel like it.  That’s all it is.

* * *

Laura knows instantly, says, “What the fuck did you do?” and just hugs him when he can’t answer.

Einstein spends all day whining and scratching at the door.  Derek doesn’t have the energy or the inclination to tell him to stop.

* * *

Derek goes to the vet’s office on a Friday because he doesn’t have Stiles’ number and he doesn’t know anything about him except that he maybe works there and Derek’s completely gone on him.Smiling Guy is behind the counter and he is not earning his namesake.He opens his mouth, looking like he’s ready to do some serious damage, when Einstein takes off, breaking Derek’s grip on his leash and scampers to the back room.

Derek follows before Smiling Guy can stop him, hears Stiles say, “You suck, you know that, Fuzzbutt?”He looks up from where he’s sitting on the green vinyl stool, taking apart one of the interactive anatomy dolls, finds Derek standing stupidly in the doorway.  His expression hardens and there’s little evidence of how far they’ve come.It’s almost like talking to Stiles that first day they met when he was just Leaning Guy and Derek wasn’t halfway in love with him.“You can’t kick me out of here, man,” he says.  “Kind of my domain.”

Derek’s palms are sweating and gathering his thoughts isn’t as easy as he remembers.“My self-preservation instinct is strong,” he settles on, stares straight into Stiles’ dismissive eyes.“You make me want to ignore it.”

Stiles laughs and it sounds bitter. Nothing like it had outside Derek’s door.“And that nicely cleans up you fucking me and then kicking me out, huh?”

“No.”Derek huffs, shakes his head, strives to explain himself.“I’ve been alone and been okay with being alone for a long time now.Because, even though I was alone, I wasn’t lonely.At least not until I met you.”Stiles flinches some, almost like he’s taken a hit.“I’m fucked up,” Derek adds bluntly.“Ask _the_ person who knows me and she’ll tell you as much but you make me want to be better.”

Stiles pulls in a deep breath, points back over Derek’s shoulder.“Scott, out there, he’s the guy who likes to take care of things.”About to Deliver a Speech Guy, Derek identifies.“I don’t want to be your nursemaid or some patiently waiting douche while you figure your shit out, I’m not—I don’t think I even know _how_ to be that.”He runs a hand through hair gone shaggy, looking the slightest bit upset with _himself_ as he says it.

Derek shrugs his shoulders, mouth dry.  He says throatily, “You’d get a dog out of it.”

Stiles snorts and it looks like it catches him off-guard.He gives Derek an assessing look, seems to consider, and says hesitantly, “I’m going to make a lot of mistakes.”

Derek feels like his heart has just zipped up from the bottom of his shoe to the top of his head and he’s brilliantly _happy_ , totally fuzzy with it.“Bet I make more,” he says with a genuine smile.

Stiles smirks.“You’re on.”

**Author's Note:**

> I blame the fact that I was listening to ' _I Wanna Get Better_ ' by Bleachers on repeat, my dogs were being remarkably needy because it was all stormy last night and that I _woke up_ specifically _to_ write this so I was weird... and sleep-deprived.
> 
> Also, yes, that title is from _Arrested Development_. Kudos to you if you recognized it.
> 
> [tumblr](http://wellhalesbells.tumblr.com/). Another platform for me to be adorable on.


End file.
